Category: Poetry (Page 8 of 9)

A Conversation with God

January 12, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Like every morning, I went to the temple,
To make my wishes

Dear God, I said, grant me health and all of life’s riches.

And finally after all these years, gently he spoke,
Slowly he opened his eyes, as his pious spirit awoke.

Overjoyed, in anticipation, for his sermon I awaited,
Lovingly he looked at me, as I sat with a breath bated.

Don’t deify me, He said, don’t glorify me to No end,
Just treat me as a humble and caring, everlasting friend.

Open your ears, listen to your prayers, and find that subtle sign,
Devote yourself and fulfil the purpose, of you life divine.

So, don’t pray and scoot away, don’t pass the baton to me,
I am only as powerful as you allow yourself to be.

Next time, don’t bring me a prayer, just bring me good news,
Of all the difference you made, of every responsibility you choose.

And I realised –

My prayers were only a direction to myself, for what I should do
I stepped out of the temple with an understanding new,

The next time I visit God, I will come with my report card,
That’s when I will treat my divinity in its highest regard.

Picture : Jason Cooper via Unsplash

Juggling Joy and Sorrow

January 11, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

A candle needs, air to burn,
But along comes the breeze
For the sake of light, it puts up a fight,
Never looking for ease.

In wishing for Joy and running from sorrow,
Man makes up a mess.
For there to be light, shouldn’t there exist,
A blinding darkness?

As you run, into life’s arena,
Let Joy and Sorrow be either stride,
With a balance such, it isn’t a challenge much,
To perfect laughter shall your instincts guide.

Not in running away, but in running into
The battlefield shall you thrive,
For only in moments of battle, does a soldier feel,
Truly Alive.

Trust the stars, and frown not,
When life calls for a fight.
For would the sun ever set,
If there wasn’t beauty in the night?

Cultivate a farmer’s trust, and sow your deeds in the soil,
And fate shall blossom, from the beads of sweat,
Of all your toil.

Find equanimity in Joy, and courage in sorrow,
Let crystal clear be your sight.

Find the fuel, deep in you heart,
And with resolution, set it alight.

Set out in this journey, enthused,
With all you might,

And then, life shall enter your heart,
With all of its light.

A Poem for all Mothers

January 10, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Conception winds
A mother’s clock
To care for life.

Life on Earth

January 5, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Impregnated by the sun’s warm touch,
The Earth gives birth,
To Life.

A Farmer’s Demise

January 3, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Life gives the farmer grains and lemons few,
He take them to sell, with a hope new,
And again he falls for the market’s spell,
He makes a big loss, for all that he could sell.

Life gives Sahib, means to money and more,
He trades all day, hoping the market shall soar,
A seasoned player, he knows the game too well,
He makes a fortune yet, to no one shall he tell

The farmer in agony, comes home to rest,
He pours himself a drink meant for a pest,
Dejected, in tears, down he chugs,
And wreaths and submits to a death meant for bugs.

The Sahib comes home, ecstatic from the gain,
He pours himself a drink, brewed from the farmer’s grain,
Elated, he finds himself in seventh heaven,
And follows the drink with a lick of salt and lemon.

It is high time, Sahib needs an awakening rude,
He needs the farmer, even before there is any food,
Sahib, make a change, make sure that you see,
That no farmer ever dies, wishing money grew on his tree.

Lola and the River

January 2, 2019 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

In summertime, the river is a channel narrow,
A trickle, it flows, as if in deep sorrow

And even though the river bank turns into a desert,
The river remains a friend she would never ever desert.

In monsoon, it floods, as clouds cry a river,
It flows with a fury, she hadn’t seen ever

And even though for safety, she has to run away,
For the river, she would kneel down and silently pray.

In winter, the river freezes to ice,
It’s a miracle of nature, a superb surprise,

From her warm company and the songs she would sing,
The ice melted slowly, to the arrival of spring.

In springtime the river has a gentle flow,
She’s ecstatic and so is her water buffalo

And nature responds to her love and deep wish
The river is full of flowers and fish.

Seasons change but to the river she is always nice,
Her life is a sign, a subtle advice,

For Little Lola she knew,
A truth simple,
That people are rivers,
And rivers are people.

Image : Delphi De La Rua via Unsplash

Reinventing the wheel

December 30, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

A billboard it said, that happiness is far,
Unless you drove around in a car.
Convinced she bought a car, a pram, a wheelchair,
And deprived herself of any time to care.

The lady, she fell for the sinister scam,
Of putting her baby in a pram
Busy as a bee, with work and earning,
For warmth and love, her baby kept yearning.

And on a Sunday, in wishful despair,
She put her mother in a wheelchair
Mother, she prayed night and noon,
Far better if her end came too soon.

Before it occurred to the lady’s mind
The baby could speak, mother became blind
But she had no time for Joy or sorrow,
She promised to attend to them tomorrow.

The blind mother mistakes the nurse for daughter
And Nanny was the first word the baby uttered
It left the busy lady aghast
But it drove some sense into her at last.

With three four wheelers and no space for touch,
She missed out on motherhood, a loss such !
Attention deficit, forever in a car seat,
The convenience of wheels rendered her obsolete.

A lesson learnt tough, much did it reveal,
A sacred law of nature did she repeal

And now she knows, deeply does she feel
What a wasteful attempt it was,
To reinvent the wheel.

A Rhyme for Lola

December 27, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

Little little Lola,
She was sure she knew
That each morning the birds,
Sang a song new,

Everyday they chirrup,
The world they apprise
Of the daily wonder, the gift,
Of a new Sunrise.

To an ear untrained,
The song is clamour
Unintelligible, without any glamour.

And If eyes could truly see,
They would know why
Each sunrise is new,
A painting in the sky.

But Little Lola, wise,
With senses in sync,
With nature she has, a seamless link

So each morning she sings,
She dances along
To the gift of each sunrise,
Of every birdsong.

—

Picture : Khanh Steven via Unsplash

Life of a butterfly

December 19, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

A butterfly’s wings
Feebly though
Applaud each moment
Of its brief, colorful life.

Cables of convenience

December 6, 2018 / Sreenath Sreenivasan / 0 Comments

When water comes to me from a silver tap,
I want it either hot or cold
But if I needed to go fetch water in a pail
Just water would do.

What makes the difference?
Is it the metal pipes?
I wonder.

If food comes to me riding on a scooter,
I want it to taste just right,
But if I had to cook myself,
A simple stir fry would do.

What makes the difference?
Is it convenience on discount?
I wonder.

If entertainment comes to me riding on waves,
I want it tailored just right,
But if I’m in the countryside
I just need a street play or the clear sky of the night.

What makes the difference?
Is it the fiber optic cables?
I wonder.

When electricity comes to me breezing from a tube,
Days aren’t long enough, even if lights makes a day of the night,
While in the wilderness, with two bulbs in the sky, the length of each day is always just right.

What makes the difference?
Is it the black cables dangling overhead?
I wonder.

What makes the difference,
What doesn’t enable but un-ables?
Is it the waves in the air, the pipes and
All those cables?

Now I understand,
It took me a while,
All cables make me hungry and immobile.

I observe, learn and understand bit by bit,
Each cable of transmission attenuates the value of what flows in it.

A resource no matter how replete,
My wants can easily deplete,
Partake in need, it makes sense complete,
And easily shall my ends meet.

In moderation, and minimalism
Does lay all the sense
I realise the path that I should tread hence,
Do away with all wants,
And all pretence,
And not be a puppet tied to,
Cables of convenience.